


be yours, be my dear

by notquitegucci (AllieKitaguchi)



Series: Gendry and Arya in Season 8 [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 8x04 Spoilers, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fix-It, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gendrya - Freeform, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, Marriage Proposal, Post Season 8 Episode 4, also can i get some love for the hound pls thx, arya stark is a self sacrificing idiot and i would die for her, bran stark back at it again with his weird fucking stare, bran stark ships gendrya pass it on, david and dan are personally invited to square the fuck up, david and dan did us DIRTY, don't worry guys i'm here to fix everything, gendry's kind of an idiot but i love him anyway, season 8 episode 4 fix it, the hound is the step dad arya stark deserves, the hound wants to bang his head into a wall, the title is taken from a shawn mendes song and i don't wanna talk about it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2020-02-27 15:14:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18741610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllieKitaguchi/pseuds/notquitegucci
Summary: When his eyes reopened and Arya’s did the same, Gendry could see the decision resting in her gaze. She kept close to him, not quite stepping away from him, but she let her hands fall away from his face. His heart sank into his stomach as he looked upon her. He knew what her words would be before she even spoke them.“You’ll be a wonderful Lord, and any Lady would be lucky to have you.” He felt his own face fall at her words. Arya’s careful eyes caught his expression and her face softened once more, nearly pleading with him to understand, as her own pained eyes met his. “But I’m not a Lady. I never have been. That’s not me.”She turned away from him before he could say anything more and he stared at the side of her head, heart sinking further and further. He let his gaze fall the ground, shifting backwards out of her space so she could retrieve another arrow. It was a clear dismissal, but Gendry couldn’t bring himself to leave her side just yet.Arya fired another arrow, and he almost felt like it had pierced him instead of the target.





	be yours, be my dear

            The room smelled like wine and blood and burning bodies.

            That was the best way his mind could sum up the stench permeating in the air. Gendry’s pale blue eyes flickered across the dim hall, taking in the smiles and laughter of the men and women around him. The surviving warriors of the Battle of Winterfell rejoiced boisterously, happy to have made it through the Long Night.

            But there was one person missing.

            The one person Gendry was so desperate to see.

            He had seen her, of course, during the burnings. He had watched her take a torch to Beric’s corpse and seen the shudder of pain dance across her features as she had turned and strode back into formation. He had watched as she held her head high and set her shoulders straight as the pyres raged into the afternoon sky.

            She had vanished not soon after. Gendry wasn’t surprised, not really, since he knew that a feast being held in her honor wasn’t exactly her scene. But a part of him still wished to catch a glimpse of her at one of the long tables—her dark hair pulled tight against her skull, her grey eyes surveying the proceedings with curiosity.

            She hadn’t even attempted to attend the feast, disappearing into the bowels of Winterfell for some peace and quiet as soon as she could. It had been hours now since he had last seen her. The longer he spent away from her, the more his anxiety built, a tight bundle of nerves in his chest that made it harder and harder for him to breathe properly.

            After the battle, when the dead had fallen and the castle had gone quiet, he’d felt so many emotions that he was paralyzed. But as his senses had returned to him, it became startlingly apparent that there was only one thing that he wanted after living through the most horrendous massacre he’d ever seen.

            He’d searched for her, amongst the dead and the living, until she’d stumbled into the courtyard alongside Jon and Bran. The shock he’d felt when Jon announced that it wasn’t him, but her, who’d killed the Night King had overwhelmed him. All he could do was smile as his eyes welled up with proud, unshed tears.

            She’d caught his eye as they started rounding up the bodies, giving him the barest hint of a smile. He’d returned it, wanting nothing more than to stride across the ground and sweep her up into his arms and away from the death. But he couldn’t. So, he’d smiled back at her and his eyes held the promise of _later._

            But he hadn’t seen her since the burnings.

            Gendry stood, suddenly unable to sit in the dining hall amidst all of the ruckus and cheers any longer. He slid his way along the tables, already trying to figure out where she might’ve been, when the Dragon Queen’s voice halted him in his tracks.

            “Gendry.” He froze and turned to her. “That’s right, isn’t it?”

            Her pale eyes were staring right back at him, her face an unreadable mask. He swallowed and stepped up in front of her, very aware of how quiet the room had fallen, how all eyes were now centered on him. “Yes, Your Grace.”

            “You’re Robert Baratheon’s son.” She stated. It wasn’t a question. Gendry saw Davos and Jon tense out of the corner of his eyes. He took a moment before nodding, once, his eyes downcast. Queen Daenerys continued, “You are aware he took my family’s throne and tried to have me murdered?”

            “I didn’t even know he was my father until after he was dead.” Gendry replied, defensively. He bit down hard on his tongue immediately after the words left his mouth.

            “Yes, he’s dead,” the Queen responded, eyes unwavering. Her exterior was cool and indifferent, but Gendry was positive that there was a storm raging inside her small body. “His brothers are too. So, who’s Lord of Storm’s End now?”

            “I don’t know, Your Grace.” Gendry frowned, bewildered.

            “Does anyone?” She addressed the room as a whole. Gendry heard the quiet murmurs that went across the room, saw the way eyes darted from one person to the next as everyone struggled to find an answer. An uncomfortable silence fell over the hall. “I think you should be Lord of Storm’s End.”

            Gendry’s lips parted, shocked. He shook his head, shifting from foot to foot. His traitorous brain supplied him with images, thoughts and ideas of what his life could be like: the ability to make change amongst the people, never having to struggle for money or food or shelter again, being able to share the throne with the woman he loved.

            “I can’t be. I’m a bastard.” He said instead, pushing thoughts of grey eyes out of his mind once more.

            “No, you are Lord Gendry Baratheon of Storm’s End, the lawful son of Robert Baratheon, because that is what I have made you.” Queen Daenerys stated, the corners of her lips tilting up into a smile.

            She was a beautiful woman, that was a fact, but there was something behind her eyes that Gendry didn’t trust. She looked at him, and her face said that she was friendly, but her eyes screamed that she was calculating and analyzing him. He turned to the others, wondering if perhaps she was pulling a sick joke on him.

            It was Ser Davos that broke the stagnant silence in the room, pushing back his chair and clambering to his feet, loudly proclaiming, “To Lord Gendry Baratheon, of Storm’s End.” Around the hall, the other survivors pushed to their feet, cheering and applauding him as shouts of his name burst out across the hall.

            Gendry kept his eyes on Daenerys, who in turn watched him back. She raised her goblet in a silent acknowledgement and he stared at her, puzzled. He saw Jon gesturing to him out of the corner of his eyes and slowly accepted the drink he offered him. Gendry lifted it, breaking eye contact with the Queen, and saluted the others as celebrations erupted throughout the room.

            Gendry slipped out of the room soon after. He was able to escape relatively unnoticed, as most of the attention in the room had been claimed by the pitchers of ale that seemed to appear in an endless supply. He made his way outside, pausing in the courtyard to see if he could catch a glimpse of dark hair.

            He searched for her, deciding that it would be highly unlikely to find her in such a crowded area, and made his way into one of the quieter, more secluded regions of the castle. He was just passing underneath the tunnel, eyes searching the darkness, when an arrow whizzed by his face, not an inch away from his nose.

            He jumped back, turning to find Arya watching him, amused. He held his hands up, laughing a little as he joked, “Don’t shoot.” Her bow was hanging loosely from her fingers as she watched him approach. She shifted her gaze away from his, stepping aside to let him stand closer to her. His eyes darted over her face.

            The bruise above her eyebrow was gruesome, but she’d cleaned the blood off of her face and swept her hair back neatly. She was every bit as beautiful to him as she had always been, standing in the darkness of tunnel with bruises and cuts all over her face. He came to stand directly next to her and little behind her, out of her way.

            “It’s nighttime, it’s freezing, and everyone’s celebrating. You should be celebrating with them.” He told her, watching as she reloaded another arrow. The sight of her, alive and clean, was enough to ease the paranoia that had been congealing in his chest during the feast.

            Arya didn’t take her eyes off the target, arm cocked back as she said, “I am celebrating.”

            The arrow smacked into the center of the target with a sharp thud. Gendry shifted on his feet, suddenly nervous. “Yeah, I am too.” He glanced at Arya, desperate for her to look at him. When her eyes refused to stray his way, he shifted on his feet and tried again. “I’m not Gendry Rivers anymore. I’m Gendry Baratheon, of Storm’s End. By order of the queen.”

            Arya’s eyes had flickered his way when he’d started speaking, but now he had her full attention. She moved so that she was facing him, a happy, pleased smile pulling at her lips. There was something soft in her gaze, the way her grey eyes wandered over his face, that made him feel warm. When she spoke, her words were honest. “Congratulations.”

            There was something in the gentle way she said it, how her quiet words had carried over the distant noise of the crowd outside, that forced his body into action. He was moving without realizing it, grasping her by the arms and pulling her into him. He kissed her, almost desperately, and she kissed him back just the same.

            A thought occurred to him.

            He pulled back abruptly, already speaking before Arya even had time to open her eyes. “I don’t know how to be the Lord of anything,” He blabbered, still gripping her by the arms. Arya watched him, bemused. “I hardly know how to use a fork. All I know is that you’re beautiful and I love you and none of it will be worth anything if you’re not with me.”

            He hadn’t meant to confess everything like this—still covered in blood and mud from the previous day’s battle. But he couldn’t find it in himself to regret the words, especially not when he saw how Arya’s gaze had shifted, how she’d stared at him in wonder and shock and awe, the corners of her mouth sloping into a small smile.

            “So be with me.” He pleaded. Something akin to fear shot across her face as he lowered himself down onto one knee. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he was cataloging the panic in Arya’s grey eyes, almost like she was begging him to stop. He forced himself to keep speaking, afraid of what would happen if he didn’t. “Be my wife. Be the Lady of Storm’s End.”

            Surprise and fear peered back at him from Arya’s startled gaze. He could see that she was scared, terrified of the idea of being tied to someone. He held her stare steadily, his own eyes begging her to understand, to see that he was different. His gaze was unwavering, and he wore his heart on his sleeve, waiting for her to respond.

            He loved her, unconditionally.

            He had loved her since the moment he met her, he thought, back when she’d been a child, dressed as a boy, getting tormented by Lommy and Hot Pie for her prized sword, Needle. He’d seen the strength that resided in her even then, as she’d fended them off using her sharp words and angry threats.

            Arya finally started moving after a second’s pause. She set her bow down so she could drop to the ground in front of him. She cupped his face and kissed him delicately, sweetly. It was a gentle kiss, unlike any of the other ones they had ever shared before, and it made fire spread throughout his whole body.

            He cupped her elbow and gently pulled them both upright until they were standing again. She had to crane her head up to keep their lips connected, and he lowered his own to alleviate her. They pulled apart, only getting a breath away, before they came together again for a shorter, more tender kiss, almost as if they couldn’t force themselves apart.

            When his eyes reopened, and Arya’s did the same, Gendry could see the decision resting in her gaze. She kept close to him, not quite stepping away from him, but she let her hands fall away from his face. His heart sank into his stomach as he looked upon her. He knew what her words would be before she even spoke them.

            “You’ll be a wonderful Lord, and any Lady would be lucky to have you.” He felt his own face fall at her words. Arya’s careful eyes caught his expression and her face softened once more, nearly pleading with him to understand, as her own pained eyes met his. “But I’m not a Lady. I never have been. That’s not me.”

            She turned away from him before he could say anything more and he stared at the side of her head, heart sinking further and further. He let his gaze fall the ground, shifting backwards out of her space so she could retrieve another arrow. It was a clear dismissal, but Gendry couldn’t bring himself to leave her side just yet.

            Arya fired another arrow, and he almost felt like it had pierced him instead of the target.

            He swallowed and stepped further out her space, the weight of her rejection resting heavily on him. “I understand, milady.” He croaked out. Arya’s gaze shifted to him again at the distress in his tone. She looked wounded at the sorrow in his voice and as her mouth opened to speak, he cut her off. “Goodnight, milady.”

            “Gendry—” He turned as quickly as he could, leaving her alone in the tunnel. She didn’t attempt to follow him as he weaved his way back into the courtyard, dodging gesturing hands and raucous men, as he pushed back into the castle, heading for his rooms, desperate to get away from the chaos.

            Once he reached his rooms, he climbed into bed, staring up at the stone ceiling. He couldn’t get her eyes out of his head—the way she’d looked so happy for him when he told her he was a Lord, the way she’d looked shocked when he said he loved her, the way she’d looked crushed when he asked her to marry him.

            Gendry closed his eyes, pushing away all of his hurt to try and think reasonably. He knew Arya, knew her better than most. But he didn’t completely know her. Every day he spent in Winterfell proved that. He learned more about her every time he spoke to her, and he knew in his soul that he _never_ wanted to stop learning about Arya.

            He wanted to know everything about her.

            He wanted to know what she looked like when she slept peacefully. He wanted to know what she looked like when she was truly, joyously happy. He wanted to know what she looked like when she fought. He wanted to know what she looked like in the early mornings, when the sun would stream in through the window and cast a soft glow over her small form.

            He wanted to see her eat her favorite foods and drink her favorite drinks. He wanted to continue to make her new weapons, even though the thought of her being in battle made his stomach heave, just so he could see the happiness twinkling in her eyes when he gave her something new to play with.

            He wanted to know who she hated and who she loved. He wanted to know what made her tick, what made her gasp, and what made her cry. He wanted to know what she was like in the quiet hours of the night, when the world had gone to sleep, but her mind was aflutter with intrusive thoughts. 

            He had never loved someone the way he loved her.

            He doubted he ever would again.

            Gendry fell asleep that night with thoughts of grey eyes and dark hair swirling around in his brain, blending his dreams and nightmares into one. He slept well into the next day, the afternoon sun already blazing high in the sky, pale beams of sunlight already creeping across the floor, when his eyes finally cracked open.

            He could hear the chatter outside in the courtyard as he pulled himself to his feet. He dragged a hand across his face, the events of the night before appearing in his mind even when he shut his eyes. Gendry swallowed back his sadness as he stood and strode out of his room, heading down into the castle.

            It wasn’t until he reached the courtyard that he realized he had no idea where he was heading. They’d won the Great War, as the Dragon Queen had called it, but now they still had to deal with the Lannister Queen. He stumbled to a stop in the courtyard, unsure of where his next move should take him.

            “Lord Gendry.” Gendry turned, surprised, to see Bran Stark sitting in his wheelchair a few feet away, dark eyes staring at him unnervingly.

            “Lord Bran.” Gendry bowed his head to him, politely stepping closer.

            “I’m not a Lord.” The youngest Stark said quietly. His voice was loud enough only for Gendry to hear. Gendry cocked his head, confused, but before Gendry could question his words, Bran spoke again. “You’re at a crossroads, I see.”

            “Er, yes.” Gendry said, warily. “I’m not sure what to do now.”

            He wasn’t even sure why he’d told Bran this, but Bran only tilted his head, a trace of surprise appearing behind his calculating eyes. “I had thought it was rather obvious.”

            “Thought what was rather obvious?” Gendry asked, shifting.

            “I had thought you would follow Arya.” Bran said simply.

            Gendry was gobsmacked. “How did you—never mind.” He stared down at his feet, swallowing back another lump of pain. “She doesn’t want me, anyway.”

            “That’s not entirely true, is it?” Bran asked him patiently.

            “I—she… she said no,” Gendry reminded him. He couldn’t stand to meet Bran’s gaze, preferring to stare down at his boots instead. “I love her, I do, but I respect her wishes.”

            “That’s very noble of you.” Bran told him.

            Gendry barked out a harsh laugh. “Yes, I suppose it—wait.” Bran’s previous words flooded back into his mind and he looked up, frowning at the young man before him. “What do you mean _follow_ Arya?”

            “She’s left.”

            “What?” Gendry backed up a step, his whole body seizing. Panic shot through him and he stared at Bran, waiting for him to respond.

            “Arya left, not moments ago. She’s going to kill the Queen.” Bran told him, as if his words weren’t treason.

            Gendry lunged closer to him and put his face inches from Bran. “Keep your voice down!” He hissed. Gendry looked over his shoulder, trying to see if anyone had overheard, but it appeared no one had. He turned back to Bran, his voice lower than a whisper. “She’s going to try to kill Daenerys?”

            “No,” Bran said, unfazed. “She’s going to try and kill Cersei.”

            Gendry stepped back again, heart racing. “You can’t be serious. She can’t—why would she do that?”

            “Cersei’s on her list of names,” Bran reminded him. “But you already knew that.”

            “Arya—she’s gone to—” Gendry’s words failed him as he stared helplessly at Bran.

            The hint of a smile slid across Bran’s face as he craned his head towards the stables. “If you leave now, you’ll be able to catch her.” Gendry was already turning away from him when Bran spoke again. “Gendry?”

            “Yeah?”

            “It’s going to be a long journey. You might want some clothes.”

            Gendry took off running.

 

 

            The Hound was sitting atop a horse, looking as grumpy as ever, when Arya pulled up alongside him. She heard him mutter, “For fuck’s sake,” as she approached.

            “On your own?” She asked him, not at all fazed by his language.

            “Not anymore. I don’t like crowds.” He grumbled, voice low. She pulled her horse next to him and he shifted his slightly to the right, making room for them to walk side by side.

            “Me neither.” She told him quietly.

            He glanced at her, curious. “Why not? They all love you now. You’re the big hero.”

            She swallowed. “Don’t like heroes.”

            They fell quiet for a moment before the Hound suddenly proclaimed, “Must’ve felt good sticking a knife in that horned fucker.”

            Amusement flooded through her as she countered with, “Not better than dying.” They dissolved into silence again, the battle reoccurring behind their unseeing eyes. Arya pushed away the screams of the dead and dying and instead asked, “You’re heading to King’s Landing?”

            “I have some unfinished business.” The Hound stated but didn’t elaborate. He didn’t need to. Arya knew exactly what he was referring to.

            “Me too.”

            The Hound glanced around at the snowy grounds. He was almost remorseful when he told her, “I don’t plan on coming back.”

            Her tone mirrored his when she answered him. “Neither do I.”

            He paused for a moment before asking, “Gonna leave me to die again if I get hurt?”

            The corners of Arya’s lips tilted upwards into a smile. She supposed it was his attempt to lighten the mood and she appreciated his efforts. She pretended to ponder over her words before she said, “Probably.”

            The Hound laughed, because they both knew it was a lie.

            Before he could say anything, the sound of hooves crashing against the snow had them both pulling up short. Arya turned, shocked to see Gendry only a few paces behind them. The Hound muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

            “You weren’t even going to say goodbye?” Gendry asked angrily as he neared them, his horse slowing to a stop in front of them.

            Guilt shot through her. “It wouldn’t have made things any easier.”

            “Nothing’s easy, Arya.” Gendry retorted, blue eyes blazing. He was pissed off, she could tell, though she wondered how much of that had to do with her rejecting him and how much of that had to do with her attempting to leave Winterfell without warning.

            “Then why did you come?” She asked him, unable to contain the question. She’d seen the anguish on his face when she’d gently told him no, seen the way his jaw had clenched, and his eyes had fluttered like he was trying to hold back tears, seen the way he tried to understand the logic and reasoning behind her answer.

            “Because he’s in love with you.” The Hound grumbled, throwing his hands up in the air, annoyed. “Even a blind man could see it.”

            Arya swallowed.

            Gendry didn’t deny it, looking at her steadily. She forced herself to look away from him, taking a moment to catch her breath before she told him, “I’m going to King’s Landing.”

            “I know.” He told her, simply. “Bran told me.”

            “Oh,” She said. She paused. “I’m going to—”

            “—Kill the Queen, yes, I know that too.” Gendry cut her off, impatient.

            Arya frowned, frustrated. “Then why are you here?”

            The Hound exhaled loudly. “Didn’t I just fucking tell yo—”

            “I’m coming with you.” Gendry told her, cutting off the Hound’s rant. Arya’s eyes drifted to his horse. She’d been so startled by his appearance that she hadn’t even noticed he’d packed for travel. Fear shot through her.

            “Gendry, no.”

            “You can’t persuade me, milady.” He shook his head, smirking.

            “I have to do this.”

            “I understand.” He moved his horse around so that he was next to her. His eyes never left hers. “I won’t get in your way. I promise.”

            “It’s going to be very dangerous.”

            “Yeah.” He nodded, unbothered.

            “You could get hurt.” She tried again.

            “So could you.”

            “You could die.” Her voice broke on the last word.

            Gendry’s eyes were soft as he looked at her. He lifted a hand slowly and brushed a few pieces of dark hair out of her face. “Somehow I doubt you’d let anything happen to me, milady.”

            “I…” Arya didn’t have an answer to that. They both knew it was true. The moment she saw him in trouble, she’d drop everything to protect him. The same way he’d do for her.

            “I love you, Arya.” Gendry reminded her, his voice quiet in the stillness around them. “I know you know that.”

            “I do.” She whispered, tears threatening to fill her eyes. She blinked rapidly, trying to keep them at bay.

            “Good.” He said, just as gently. He leaned closer to her and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. Arya’s eyes fell closed and she felt a single tear leak down onto her cheek.

            “Gendry,” She whispered. “I can’t ask you to do this.”

            “You don’t have to.” He told her. She finally opened her eyes to look at him. He looked just as pained as she felt. “I’d follow you to the ends of the Earth if you asked me to, milady. Let me help you.”

            “Oh for fuck’s sake!” The Hound’s loud voice exploded around them in the clearing. The two of them jumped, having forgotten he was there. “Just tell him you love him too and let’s get a move on. I have people to kill.”

            With that, he kicked his horse back into motion and strode away from them, grumbling under his breath the whole way. It was his own way of giving them privacy, Arya realized. She and Gendry shared a look before they both broke into startled laughter, the tense moment between them dimmed by his outburst.

            “He’s right you know.” Arya told Gendry once they’d both calmed down. “I do love you.”

            “I know.” Gendry nodded. He met her gaze and she could see it in his eyes that he meant it. “I also know why you turned me down.”

            Her eyes dropped from his. “Gendry—”

            “Hey, it’s alright,” He said, voice soothing. He reached for her hand and laced their fingers together. “I understand, Arya, I do. It took me a while to get it, sure, but I did eventually. You don’t want to be a Lady.”

            “I don’t,” She agreed. “I never have. That’s always been Sansa’s thing, not mine.”

            “Yes,” Gendry said. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t still be my wife.”

            Arya turned to him, confusion clear across her pretty features. “How do you mean?”

            “If I were to give up my titles, my Lordship—hey, wait, let me finish,” Gendry cut her off as she opened her mouth to protest. “If I gave up my Lordship and just went back to being a bastard, would you marry me, then?”

            “Why are you asking me this?” Arya huffed, frustrated. “And you can’t give up your titles, not for me. I won’t allow it.”

             Gendry grinned. “You seem to have forgotten milady. I’m a Lord now. I can do as I please.”

            “Exactly,” She pointed out. “So why would you give it all up?”

            “Because I meant what I said, Arya,” He told her, blue eyes meeting her grey ones. “All of that—the land, the title—it means nothing if you’re not by my side.”

            “Gendry…” Her voice trailed off, her words betraying her.

            “You haven’t answered my question, Arya.” He reminded her gently.

            She tore her eyes away from his, unable to hold his comforting gaze any longer. “You can’t ask me that.”

            “I just did.”

            “You—” She whirled on him, a sharp retort on the tip of her tongue, but paused when she saw the humor glimmering behind his eyes. She blew out a harsh breath. “You’re an idiot.”

            “Yes, you’ve told me.”

            “Stubborn, too.”

            “As if you have any room to talk.” He snorted. “We love each other and for some reason, you won’t let us be together.”

            “I’m not the girl I once was.” She deflected.

            “And I’m not the boy I once was.” Gendry rolled his eyes at her. “You still love me anyway, the same way I still love you.”

            “I’ve done things, Gendry.” She said softly, unable to look him in the eyes. She picked at a loose thread on her trousers. “Things I’m not proud of. Things that haunt me at night.”

            “Arya.” She refused to look up. His fingers appeared in her line of sight a second before he gently took her chin in his hand and tilted her face upwards, forcing her to meet his gaze. His eyes were hard and serious. “I don’t care what you’ve done.”

            “You don’t even know—”

            “I don’t _care_.” He repeated. “I don’t.”

            “How can you say that?” She asked, confusion bleeding into her words.

            “Because whatever it is that you’ve done—whatever choices you’ve made—they all led you back here. To me.” He told her. The breath in her lungs left her chest at his words. He looked at her like she was precious, thumb gently brushing along her cheek. “I won’t ever care about what you’ve done, because it brought you back to me.”

            “Gendry…” She breathed, her chest tight.

            “I mean it, Arya.” He looked as solemn as she’d ever seen him, and she could see the truth burning in his eyes. “I love you, unconditionally and with my whole soul. Whatever it is that you’ve done that you think will make me love you any less, I promise you it _can’t_.”

            Unable to contain it any longer, Arya leaned forward as much as she could and crushed him to her. Her wiry arms wrapped around his neck and she buried her face in his torso. Gendry held her back just as tightly, nosing at the side of her head and pressing kisses anywhere that he could reach.

            The angle was uncomfortable, as they were both still sitting atop their horses, but the two of them refused to move for a moment. Finally, they slowly pulled back, Arya’s eyes glimmering with unshed tears and Gendry’s own eyes shining too. “I love you,” Arya whispered. “Gods help me, I do.”

            “I don’t care what happens to me, Arya, just so long as you’re by my side through it all.” His words were honest, and his conviction was sound. “Whether that be as my Lady, my wife, or even just as my friend, I don’t care. I just need you there, with me.”

            “I’m not meant to be a Lady, Gendry,” She reminded him. His eyes hardened slightly, and she saw the way he desperately tried to hide his pain. He was trying to spare her guilt, she realized. She paused for a moment before she said, “But I think… I think I would like to be yours. Whatever that means.”

            Gendry’s eyes searched hers for a moment, looking for something she couldn’t understand. Finally, after a heartbeat, he found what he was looking for. He beamed at her, happiness making the corners of his eyes crinkle. “I would like that very much, milady.”

            Immediately, her face flattened into a glare. “Don’t call me that.”

            “As milady commands—ouch!” He rubbed at his wounded shoulder.

            “I’m already regretting my decision.” Arya grumbled. Gendry only grinned back at her because they both knew it wasn’t the truth. Over the crest of the hill, the Hound appeared atop his horse, bellowing down at them angrily.

            “Oy! Are you two stupid fuckers coming or not?”

            Gendry and Arya kicked their horses into speed, laughing the whole way.

**Author's Note:**

>  I'm back again to fix David and Dan's mess because apparently we aren't allowed to have nice things. 
> 
>  As the tags indicate, David and Dan are cordially invited to square the fuck up.
> 
>  That being said, I should admit that I understand completely why Arya made the decision she did. It's incredibly in character for her to turn down being the Lady of Storm's End, especially since she's never wanted to be a Lady. However, I was still heartbroken to see them both in pain. So, I fixed it.
> 
>  Enjoy.
> 
> If you want to talk more about Game of Thrones or Arya/Gendry, you can find me on tumblr (alliekitaguchi.tumblr.com/ask) and on twitter @allie_kitaguchi! Also, feel free to send me prompts on either!
> 
> \- A


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